


Something Positive

by bobtheacorn



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen, LIKE I'M SO HAPPY THEY'RE /FRIENDS/ DON'T TOUCH ME, friendship-fic, references concept art (by way of nick's shitty living conditions), strictly platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobtheacorn/pseuds/bobtheacorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rusted iron gate squeals and groans as it’s forced aside, and Judy is speechless. / She combs her paws back over her ears, steels herself to be upbeat and positive and a Good Supportive Friend, and strides out of the service elevator.</p><p>Something Positive, she thinks, Something Positive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Positive

The rusted iron gate squeals and groans as it’s forced aside, and Judy is speechless.

There’s an ominous _thump-thump-thump_ in the network of pipes overhead; a hiss of steam that clouds the room; a gurgling rumble from one of the numerous water heaters. The “apartment” - she uses this term with incredible looseness - is dark, and dingy, and… frankly, a lot to process. Nick sweeps her in with a wide gesture, “ _Mi casa es su casa_ , Officer Carrots.” His expression is aloof, his tone casual, but there’s a slight tension in his shoulders and the way he moves, and he doesn’t look at her.

The fox digs his paws into the pockets of his dark uniform slacks and ducks effortlessly underneath a pipeline hanging from the low ceiling. It’s a single room that’s been sectioned off with a single wall. When Nick disappears around the only corner, Judy rushes out her breath. The air is hot and damp. She combs her paws back over her ears, steels herself to be upbeat and positive and a Good Supportive Friend, and strides out of the service elevator.

Her first act is to accidentally kick over a cooking pot that she doesn’t see, catching water in the middle of the floor. It’s contents promptly spill out across the busted concrete, the threadbare rug.

“Oh! No no no no no,” Judy whispers fervently, kneeling to drag the pot back into it’s proper place, glancing up toward the ceiling.

A drop of water pecks her in the eye and she flinches back, shaking her head. The second drop _pings_ against the bottom of the cooking pot, and then steadily after that. It quickly fills up and the sound dies away into a delicate _plop-plop-plop_. Judy casts about the floor, paws spread, to asses the mess. It’s honestly hard to tell where the water she spilled ends and the standing pools that were already here begin, so, guiltily, she clasps her paws in front of her and sidles away.

Now that her eyes are adjusting a little to the dimness - there is one, narrow window across the room letting in light, and it’s too dark outside for it to do much good - she notices a plethora of pots, bowls, and cups sitting around with the same purpose as the cooking pot. Some are brimming over, water slushing out the sides, and others only half-full. The floor is a minefield, the counter space cluttered with them. The constant trickling of water and humid atmosphere reminds her of being in the rainforest district, and Judy suppresses a shudder.

She doesn’t like the stuffy climate much.

It occurs to her that she’s standing in the kitchen when she spots a makeshift stove wedged into the counter. There’s only one eye, and a tea kettle - well, coffee kettle, she presumes - sitting on it. There’s also and a tiny fridge occupying the room.

This particular surface has a cactus beneath a small pipe stream.

It’s wilting miserably in the mud.

Judy winces and tentatively follows Nick around the corner. Nick is to her right, pulling the buttons of his uniform loose with one paw, while he dumps water out of a bowl in the floor with the other, into a sink that’s too small to be a legitimate sink. A glance to her left makes Judy pause, nose twitching. Across the room, there’s a desk (made for a much larger mammal) with the bottom drawer pulled out, a pillow stuffed inside, a blanket trailing out.

There is a small dip in the wall that serves as a closet. An alarm clock on a nightstand, declaring 9:52 pm.

She realizes she hasn’t said anything.

 _Something Positive,_ she thinks, _something Positive._

“It’s very…” she begins, patting her paws together nervously, “Wet.”

Nick laughs.

“And dark,” she continues lamely, wondering why those particular words are the first things coming out of her mouth, “And… kind of stuffy?”

She fans a paw in front of her face. It’s just a little difficult to breathe. It is his space, so of course it smells like Nick, but she’s used to his scent by now - filling their patrol car, peppering the office. The scent of _Fox_ no longer triggers a cautionary alarm in her brain. If anything, it’s become a source of comfort. It means a friend is closeby. So it isn’t his scent giving her a hard time so much as the culmination of others; mold and mildew, rust and stagnant water.

At the very least, Nick isn’t insulted.

“Like a fox hole?” he offers lightly, poking her in the chest as he passes.

Judy spreads her paws, “Or a warren!”

Wow that enthusiasm is _forced!_

Nick hangs his uniform shirt on a narrow pole, wedged into that dip in the wall, and the belt and slacks quickly follow it. He pulls a shirt off another hanger and trots across to the desk in his shorts, in search of other pants. The moment his back is safely turned, Judy bops herself in the forehead once, then bounces her fist against her hip as she turns.

She gives the _apartment_ another quick survey.

Nope. Not her imagination. It is just as bad as it looks - and smells.

The leaky, rusty pipes. The pots and pans. The kitchen with no cabinets and a tiny fridge, and barely any food to speak of. The bathroom is literally a hole in the wall. There’s water, and jagged places in the floor and soggy rugs, and the plaster is crumbling away from the walls. What makes it even sadder - if that is at all possible - are the motivational posters sprinkled around the room, half hidden behind pipes and vents (“Make it Happen” “Eyes on the Prize” “Yes You Can”).

Judy clutches her face.

_He **lives** here. He lives **here.**_

“Hey,” Nick’s sharp voice pulls her out of her spiraling thoughts. When she looks at him, his ears are up, his green eyes wide in warning. He’s got one arm halfway through the sleeve of his open shirt. “Judy, don’t stand there!”

“What?” she asks, bewildered.

Her own ears lift, swiveling toward the wall to catch a faint sound. The moment she instinctively hops forward, away from it, a gush of steam blows out of an enormous vent in the wall. It’s a narrow miss. The heat is scalding, even out of its direct path. It rushes against her fur, chokes the air in his lungs and makes her gasp, scrambling further out of the way. She darts behind Nick and peers out from around him, her heart hammering, chest heaving.

Gently, Nick pats the top of her head, letting out a small laugh.

“Sorry about that, Carrots,” he says, shrugging all the way into his shirt. He picks up the chair from under the desk and sets it in the spot in front of the vent as a visual deterrent. “I’m used to dodging the geyser, but I don’t, uh... have guests too often.”

He scrubs the back of his neck with one paw, roughing up his fur. Judy can’t bear it. Her nerves are frayed from the light scare and it’s the final straw.

“Why do you _live here?”_ she asks, dismayed.

“Well, we’ve all gotta live somewhere,” Nick says, with an upbeat gesture and smirk that she immediately recognizes as him detaching himself from any emotional context the conversation might develop.

“Is this why you never invited me over?”

“Not this outburst in particular, but yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m sorry,” Judy says, and she since she’s going for sincere (that is: brutal honesty), she winces and shrugs, and adds, “It’s _so bad.”_

“At least it’s not a 4x6 tenement,” Nick fires back cheerfully.

He's seen her place. It isn't _that_ bad. Judy points at the desk, “At least mine has a bed.”

“That drawer is more comfortable than it looks.”

“Mine doesn’t _leak_.”

“It adds a unique aesthetic.”

“And mine is _temporary,_ ” Judy finishes, “I’m only there until my _lease_ runs out - it was all I could afford when I first came to the city.” Nick shuts off completely at that. Any amusement - forced or otherwise - leaves his face almost at once. He turns and walks away, his expression blank except for a mild twitch of annoyance around his mouth and eyes. Since he has nowhere to go besides the other side of the apartment, Judy hastens to follow him, “You’ve been with the Department for months, I know you can afford a better place!”

It’s probably only after all her chipping away at his “don’t let them get to you” exterior that Judy is able to get an answer that isn't cloaked in bland humor out of him.

“Yeah, well, it’s about as easy for a _predator_ of my _species_ to find a place within his price range as you might imagine. Especially lately.”

Judy takes that like a blow to the gut. She hadn’t thought of that, and instantly regrets pressing. It is - partly, in some sideways fashion - her fault that a lot of predators are still facing more open and intense prejudice since the Night Howlers incident. She had gotten overwhelmed and excited, and opened her mouth about an issue that she wasn’t ready to speak for. There’s no sense in apologizing for any of that - again - and it will only annoy Nick if she tries.

Turning, trying to process, Judy shifts her attention back to the apartment. She had lot of mixed feelings about her own place, at first. It certainly wasn’t the Burrows. And, fine, it doesn’t exactly have much to offer in the way of prime living conditions, but that had been part of the allure! It was _exciting!_ Something that was _hers._ But she had never imagined herself _staying_ there. And she had never imagined something worse - let alone that her friend might live in worse. She’s outraged, and upset.

Nick doesn’t deserve this.

What kills her is that he doesn’t even sound _bitter_ about it. He sounds resigned. Like this is the way it always has be and the way it is always going to be. Like despite everything he’s been through, there are still some things he is never going to be able to overcome.

Judy stomps her foot, her jaw set.

“Do you need a place to live?!” she demands.

Nick falls quickly back into condescension when he finally turns to look at it. It's easier.

“I _have_ a place to live, Carrots,” he says, attitude in full-swing, “You’re standing in it.”

Drawing herself up to her full height - although that isn’t saying very much - Judy puts on her best Tryer voice, her authoritative tone, “I cannot abide you sleeping in a drawer, Nick.”

Nick arches an eyebrow at her.

“What,” he asks, “Are you going to cite all the health and safety violations at me?”

“No,” Judy snaps, a little offended. That had been Plan A, but now she gears into Plan B. She swings her paw back toward what passes as the bedroom area, lifting her chin. “Go pack your stuff.”

Nick waits with exaggerated expectancy, “And? What?”

“You’re moving in with me,” Judy says.

“With _you?”_ Incredulous.

“Yes.”

“No.” Flat, without inflection.

“Yes!” Judy says, her foot coming down again, “And I will help you find a better place than this - ”

Finally seeing that she’s serious, Nick waves his paws.

“Alright, Good Cop, dial it down a notch.” He isn’t smirking anymore. If anything, he looks anxious. “I’m just fine where I’m at.”

“Well, I’m not taking no for an answer, Wilde.”

Judy props her paws on her hips, determined to win out in this.

It’s unusual that the fox doesn’t have something smart to say. Nick stares at her like he’s never quite seen her before, his brow knotted, posture guarded. Judy waits, her foot tapping lightly while she mentally combs back through what she’s seen of the apartment. She recalls there being a suitcase of some kind propped against the side of the desk.

Hoping to spurn him into action, Judy turns and bolts.

It’s obvious she’s planning something obstinate. Nick jumps forward to stop her - only he puts his foot in a bowl in his haste, water going across the floor and dampening the rug, Judy’s name bursting out like a swear as he stumbles. Judy ignores him - if nothing else, she can outmaneuver a fox. She snatches the suitcase, exactly where she remembered seeing it, and pops it open.

Nick is so preoccupied with ducking underneath the pipe coming into the room that he trips over the suitcase that slides under his feet and sprawls out in the floor. Judy drops his police uniform and assorted shirts across his back with a wily smile and dives for the set of drawers in the desk. Even standing on the lip of the the open drawer, she has a hard time reaching into the back of the others - and she has to dart out of the way, ties and shorts in arm, when Nick picks himself up and slams the drawer shut around her.

“Judy, cut it out!”

“Make me,” she taunts, dropping his clothes in the open suitcase.

She needs the chair to reach the top drawer, but it’s bigger than she is and too heavy to lift. Judy jumps up into the seat, thinking to leap out when Nick comes at her and knock it back against the desk. The chair tips slightly sideways against her momentum, until Judy clutches the back of it and shifts her weight to steady it. Over the clack of the chair legs hitting the floor, she doesn’t hear the faint, telltale gust of sound until there’s a breath of warm air against her face.

_The vent._

Judy looks right into it, her heart in her throat.

She freezes.

(It is a horrifying reminder that she is a very small animal, and there are a lot of things that present a real danger to her - in even the most casual settings. And she was careless, and silly, and - )

Something hard hits Judy in the ribs at the very last second and knocks her out of the vent’s path. The hiss of scalding air, the rush from the fall, are both indistinguishable noise in her ears. She yelps when she hits the floor, surprised, but not hurt, and quickly scrambles to her feet. The steam distorts her view of the room, the roar deafening. It’s like watching a train pass a hair’s breath from the tracks, and as the steam rapidly clears and the air calms down, Judy’s ears twitch up.

She sees Nick’s back bend as he turns away, doubled over with his right forearm hugged against his chest. The strained yell he muffles behind his teeth reverberates against her nerves. Nick tries to shake his arm as if that will help. It hurts so badly, he kicks a tin pot to keep from yelling again, and it bangs and bounces away into the kitchen area. Water sprays into the air.

“Nick!” Judy gasps, darting forward, “Oh my goodness - I’m so sorry…!”

She grabs onto his elbow, dragging him down so she can see it. It takes pulling with her full weight to pry his arm away from his chest - mostly because Nick is trying to push her off and away from him with his free paw - but Nick eventually relents. The pads of his paw are blistered from being in the direct heat, but the burns going up his arm aren’t too severe. His fur is thick from the condensation and too warm, the skin swelling underneath. With a quick, furtive scan of the kitchen, Judy realizes that there is _no kitchen sink_ and drags Nick toward the bathroom, instead.

She cranks the handle four times before it produces any water.

Nick shoves his arm under the faucet without being prompted to. He stands bent over the sink, gripping the edge of it with his free paw. His teeth are bared and his breathing is strained, his whole body is tense and trembling. The tip of his tail twitches up off the floor. Judy puts her paw under the water to make sure it’s cold enough before hurrying into the kitchen. Her heart’s a nervous patter in her chest, but her head is clear, her nose twitching. She leaps up onto the counter and begins rattling through the meager stock lined up against the wall, spilling all the cups and kettles in her way.

Stale bread, an empty cereal box, a few blueberry baskets from the farmers market - there! Judy snatches up the jar of honey and bounds back into the bathroom.

She was only gone a moment, but Nick evidently used the time compose himself. The tension lingers in his body, but he’s leaning more casually against the sink, now, trying to appear aloof. He has his chin resting in his palm, his arm resting in the basin as it slowly fills up. He shifts his face away from her when Judy cautiously approaches.

“You, um,” she begins softly, hesitating as she glances around, “Wouldn’t happen to have a first aid kit lying around, would you?”

There’s one in their patrol car - fat lot of good it’s doing them, now.

Wordlessly, Nick reaches under the sink with his foot and slides out a flat, red tin toolbox. Judy stares at it in dismay, braces herself with a deep breath. _Of course._ She crouches to pry it open, rummaging among the various odds and ends that have collected in it - mostly tools (an obvious burglary kit, which she ignores), but there is, miraculously, a roll of gauze bandages that aren't dirty. Out of the corner of her eye, Judy sees Nick cut the faucet off before he rests his chin in his paw again.

He doesn’t say anything. Judy distracts herself from this with pinning the honey jar in the crook of her elbow to wrestle the lid loose.

It scrapes open with a satisfying _pop._

She sets it aside and goes to get the towel that’s hanging over the shower curtain rod, bringing it back to the sink spread open between her small paws. Lifting herself up on her toes, she can barely see over the lip of the sink; craning her head, she can barely see Nick’s face at all. His eyes are downcast, staring into the water. She raises an ear to listen to his breathing. It’s slow and even.

“Let me see it,” she says, proffering the towel.

For a second, she thinks he might refuse. Then, Nick lifts his arm out of the water and steps back from the sink. He sits on the lid of the toolbox while Judy stands in front of him and gingerly pats his arm dry, glad, not for the first time, that she grew up with any number of smaller siblings and knows a thing or two about family method first aid. She dabs honey on the places where the blisters are the worst, knowing it will draw out any infection, wraps the gauze loosely around the pads of his paw and wrist, so he’ll still have plenty of mobility.

While she’s doing this, Nick isn’t talking.

Despite how unsettling that is, it gives her plenty of time to think.

“Sorry I was so pushy,” Judy says softly, fidgeting with the end of the gauze after she ties the knot. She holds his paw gently between hers, glances around at the abysmal apartment, and doesn’t quite have the words. She forgets sometimes that not everyone is like her - a Jumper, a Go-Getter. A Tryer. And change takes time. She knows that, she just… forgets. “I shouldn’t have... I _shouldn’t_ have.”

It’s a simple as that, honestly.

“I mean…” she continues, “Are you _happy_ here?”

How messed up is it, that she didn’t even think to ask? She can't imagine it, but maybe it's better - comparatively - than living under a bridge.

A snort from Nick makes her jump.

She looks up at him, eyes wide, and can tell right away that he’s doing his best to look like he’s not laughing. Stands before Judy can say anything; he isn't used to having someone that _cares,_ and Judy has a bracing affection that he has a hard time emulating. He pushes her head down with his bad paw - gently, ruffling her ears as he does it - and steps over her instead of just going around. It’s a playful gesture that Judy isn’t expecting, but it has her smiling nonetheless as she staggers to regain her balance, brushing her paw over her ears.

When he draws level with the suitcase, the haphazard pile of clothes around it, Nick gestures, dramatic in his disapproval, “Hundreds of relatives, and no one ever taught you how to pack a suitcase?”

He shakes his head, gathering up his stuff.

Judy breathes out a sigh of relief and jumps to help.


End file.
